Nick slowly lowered his cup of tea to the kitchen counter whilst his eyes dropped to Goodie’s hands.
‘Holy Long Kiss Goodnight,’ he heard Tilly mutter next to him as the knife started moving so fast it was almost a blur. The stack of onions, carrots, potatoes in front of her were nearly decimated. Despite the speed of her hands, the look on her face was that of complete calm and he had the eerie feeling that she was somewhere else.
Just as she finished the last carrot, Benji shot forward to a pile of tomatoes on his side of the kitchen island and threw one of them at Goodie. Nick opened his mouth to shout at the little shit but closed it when he saw Goodie automatically lift the knife, slice the tomato in midair into perfect halves, throw the knife up to spin in the air before catching its handle and cutting the halves into quarters, all within less than a second. This was repeated for the remaining three tomatoes, then she paused, flicked up the knife and balanced the sharp end perfectly on one of her fingers before tossing it to spin high in the air, almost to the ceiling, catching it by its handle and then throwing it with deadly accuracy the length of the room so that it ended up stuck in a large chopping board, inches from Clive’s arm.
There were mixed reactions to this display. Benji, Arabella, Anya, Tilly, Bertie and Nick’s aunt and uncle started applauding, shouting out, ‘Jolly good show!’ and, ‘Bravo!’ Nick himself kept his eyes on Goodie and watched as she slowly came back to herself and handed the knife to a dumbfounded Mrs B. Nick’s mum had gone a little pale, as had Ed. Nick’s dad was looking at Goodie with renewed curiousity. And Clive …
‘Jesus Christ,’ Clive shouted, his face flushed with fear and anger. ‘You psychotic bitch – you could have killed me!’
‘Yes,’ Goodie said slowly, ‘I could have but I chose not to … this time.’
‘Pahaha!’ Bertie laughed, breaking the now tense silence that had fallen over the kitchen. ‘She’s messing with you, old man. It’s like a circus trick; no need to get shirty – you know, like the time Giles-Bullhammer-Fentywick stuffed that artichoke up his –’
‘Bertie. Shut. Up,’ Clive clipped, his patience completely gone. He scowled at Goodie one last time before storming out of the room.
‘I only meant to say that it was a bally good trick,’ Bertie said bracingly.
‘Not sure the comparison quite matches up, Bert,’ Nick said dryly. ‘After all, there wasn’t exactly much talent involved in old Bullhammer’s avocado stunt, and very little risk to life and limb for anyone but the idiot himself.’
Goodie ignored them both and moved across the kitchen to Claire. ‘I am sorry,’ she told her. ‘I did not mean to scare you.’
‘Oh … I wasn’t … I mean …’
‘Yes you were, but I promise there was no risk.’
Claire smiled.
‘Oh, I know that, dear. I was just a little … taken aback. Anyway, now you can teach me and Mrs B. how to do it, can’t you?’
‘Oh yes, that would be wonderful,’ put in Mrs B. ‘Did you train with a chef in London?’ Goodie tilted her head to the side, a small smile playing on her mouth.
‘Not … exactly,’ she replied.
‘Splendid, we can all learn,’ put in Nick’s Aunt, who had rarely taken any interest in cooking but whose eyes were now bright with enthusiasm.
So the rest of that afternoon was spent in the kitchen. Even Nick’s dad and uncle, who usually absented themselves from anything even vaguely related to food preparation, hung around watching Goodie as she showed the adults how to slice and dice at warp speed (the kids much to their disgust were relegated to audience status and it was made clear that in their cases knife-play of any kind was strictly forbidden – although Nick did catch Goodie’s wink at Benji during one of these lectures; he had a feeling that she’d already crossed that bridge with him in the past).
Once everything that could be chopped had been, Goodie started to slope away. Nick was about to head her off when he saw that his dad had beaten him to it, steering her over to the armchairs by the huge Aga and extracting his chess set from the shelf above. Goodie hesitated before she sat down, but Monty simply carried on setting up the chess pieces. After a few moments she sank into the armchair opposite and made her first move. It reminded Nick of the times as a child that he’d watched his father with a unbroken horse: he never pushed, he waited for the horse to come to him, keeping his voice low, no sudden movements. His dad was a clever bastard.
Nick decided to take the same approach and went back to the group around the kitchen table, all of whom were now grilling Ed about cold fusion. It had not escaped Nick’s notice that his sister, not known for her fascination with anything scientific (the only science GCSE she hadn’t failed miserably at school had been Physics, and only then because she’d convinced some of the boys to set up her circuits for her), was hanging on Ed’s every word as if he was Albert Einstein himself. Nick was hoping this would make the ejection of Clive from their lives slightly easier. After an hour had passed, Nick quietly got up to boil the kettle. He made a pot of tea, which his mum bustled off with, but then after remembering that Goodie hated tea he went to the cupboard for the cafetiere.
When he placed the coffee-filled mug and a plate with oat and raisin biscuits next to Goodie, she looked up at him and for once the blank mask slipped. Her wide eyes flicked from him to the mug and back again and her features softened. He reached down to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear and she blinked, staring at his hand as he withdrew it. He watched her swallow before she shook her head as if to clear it and her attention went back to the chessboard. She didn’t flinch away from him, she didn’t close down; he was getting somewhere, he felt. Before he moved away, his dad caught his eye and he smiled.
*****
Monty Chambers looked down at the chessboard again, his smile still in place despite the fact he was losing to this woman for the second time in a row. His son had brought a fair few women home in the past. They had all been perfectly reasonable fillies: attractive, well-bred, personable types, but what they had not been was a challenge. Everything in his son’s life had come easily to him; his charm, his good looks, his intelligence had meant that there had been very few bumps in the road. But Monty knew why Nick had expanded the business, why he was on the brink of changing the energy industry throughout the world: he was a risk-taker, a thrill-seeker; he loved a challenge. So maybe it was a strange outlook to have, but Monty rather thought a beautiful, mysterious, knife-wielding Russian suited Nick far more than any of the lukewarm women he had presented to his dad in the past. Life was there to be lived and this woman … this woman could help his son live it as he was meant to.
Monty jumped when he heard ‘Anya!’ shouted across the kitchen, then looked down to see that the two-year-old had made her way over to where he was sitting and was reaching for his tea. He tutted at her and ruffled her hair. When she stretched out her little chubby arms he pulled her up onto his lap to help him with his next chess move. She was such an enchanting child that he did not notice Goodie’s head shoot up when Anya’s name was shouted out. Nor did he notice his son’s eyes widen as he took in her reaction.
*****
Nick walked down the corridor at pace. His mobile was already clamped to his ear and he was waiting impatiently for his call to be answered.
‘Anya,’ he snapped when the ringing was finally cut off.
‘Hello to you too, mate,’ Walker’s voice said patiently. ‘Bloody freezing over here by the way – thanks for that.’
‘I’ve got a name for you: Anya.’
‘You sure?’
‘Ninety per cent.’
‘You realize that’s still fuck all to go on, don’t you?’
‘It’s more than you had before.’
‘Yeah but –’
‘I’m paying you enough to be out there,’ Nick clipped, losing patience. ‘You’ve never come up empty-handed on other jobs before.’
‘This is not like your typical spot of industrial espionage, Nick. This shit is seriously scary, the people who know anything about it are like vapour and any information is buried deep. You peel back one layer and you’re faced with another. I’m not sure trundling around Russia asking this stuff is even safe. So no, maybe you’re not paying me enough.’
Nick rubbed his eyes and sighed. ‘Sorry. I just … I just need to know more.’
‘Yeah, I think I got that.’ Walker’s voice was now annoyingly laced with humour, but Nick was relieved that he hadn’t just jacked in the whole thing altogether. ‘I’ll add Anya into the mix, okay? But I’m not promising anything.’
‘Thanks, mate; I owe you.’
‘I hope she’s worth all this,’ Walker said cautiously. ‘Got to say, some of the stuff we’ve found, well, it’s a bit … um … fucked up.’
‘She’s worth it,’ Nick told him firmly.
When he hung up the phone he almost dropped it in shock when Sam materialized from the shadows of the corridor.
‘Christ, how do you people do that? What’s wrong with just walking along like a normal person and announcing your presence with a simple “Hi there”? Jesus.’
‘Sorry, princess,’ Sam said through a smile. Nick rolled his eyes and was about to turn away to go back to the kitchen when Sam caught his arm.
‘Some things are best left buried,’ he told him, his smile having dropped and his eyes boring into Nick’s. ‘Don’t poke the hornets’ nest.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talk –’
‘You understand me. What you don’t understand is what you could find. You don’t know what you’re dealing with. You don’t know who she is.’
‘That’s what I want to find out,’ Nick told him.
‘You think you do but trust me, I’m telling you the truth, you don’t.’
*****
Clive was fucking furious. He’d put months into winning over Matilda Chambers. Horse-obsessed single mothers were not exactly his usual type, but he’d made an exception; he needed a way into the Chambers family and he most definitely needed a way to get his hands on some cash. His P.R. firm had been floundering for the last year, and Nick’s account was about the only lucrative contract he had left. Tilly might only work off and on at the stables, but she had a huge trust fund, not to mention a massive divorce settlement, seeing as her ex-husband had been enough of an idiot to be caught cheating on her. The stupid bastard had thought he could fuck with a Chambers and get away with it. He probably should have taken into account the kind of adversary he would be taking on with Tilly’s brother; poor sod didn’t stand a chance, not once Nick got his army of private investigators involved.
Clive wasn’t making that mistake, no way. He was marrying the horsey bitch and he’d keep his dick in his pants for as long as it took to get what he wanted. The last thing he needed was for some scrawny science dweeb sniffing around, upsetting all his plans.
And now she was going to end things?
With him?
Unbelievable.
He slammed the door to his room, pulled off the fucking wax jacket he’d bought to fit in with these freaks, and threw it on the floor in disgust. No way was he going on some lame Chambers family fishing trip, not in this mood and not after he’d just been dumped. ‘We can still have a nice evening tonight,’ she’d said. ‘It doesn’t have to get ugly, Clive.’ She could say what she liked; Clive was not giving up without a fight. He knew things about the Chamberses and he was not above blackmail. Tilly was weak; she’d soon crumble when confronted with his brand of persuasion.
He kicked the leg of the bed in frustration. Complacency – that had been his problem; he hadn’t thought for a moment that Tilly would actually dump him. Maybe he should have made a bit more effort with the kid, but Clive hated children and that brat was a mouthy little shit that could use a good …
Something caught his eye across the room. His head whipped round and he was staring straight at that bloody great dog. Clive did not like dogs. The pug was bad enough (although it thankfully left him alone, having learnt that any attempt to slobber on him would be met with a swift kick when Tilly and the brat’s backs were turned) but this one gave him the creeps. He took a step back as the animal’s upper lip curled to bare its teeth, a low growl resonating through the room. It was then that he felt something sharp pierce the skin of his neck and everything went black.
*****
‘Hello Sleepyhead.’ Clive blinked until the blurry figure in front of him swam into focus. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at him with an eerily neutral expression.
‘What the …?’ he slurred slightly, then shook his head to clear it. ‘What in the fuck is going on?’ As he slowly blinked awake he could tell that he was propped up against the large headboard.
‘That is an interesting question, Clive,’ Goodie said with apparent genuine curiosity. ‘What in the fuck is going on with you? What exactly are you after? I, for one, do not like unanswered questions.’
Clive attempted to swing off the bed but was pulled back by strapping around his chest and abdomen, attaching him to the wide slats across the headboard. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he shouted, struggling against his restraints. ‘What in God’s name are you …? Have you completely lost your mind?’
Goodie smiled at him, and laid her hand on Salem’s head as he was sitting on the floor next to the bed, his teeth still bared at Clive.
‘I would stop all that thrashing about if I were you,’ Goodie advised as another low growl rumbled from the beast next to him. ‘You’re upsetting Salem and he’s already not your biggest fan.’ Clive glanced down at Salem nervously before staring at Goodie again. ‘And nobody can hear you anyway; even Mrs B. went along to watch the fishing.’
‘What possible reason could you have for this?’ he asked. ‘You do know that you’re going to prison already for what you’ve done so far. Don’t make it any worse for yourself by –’
‘Research, Clive,’ Goodie said, cutting him off. ‘People think that protection work is all about leaping in front of bullets and swanning around after your potential targets; they forget about research.’
‘What are you talking about? Let me off here. Help! Somebody –’ Goodie moved so fast that she was almost a blur. Before he knew what had happened he had gaffer tape sealing his mouth shut, his cries muffled behind it.
‘What does this research involve? you might ask,’ she carried on conversationally, as if they were having a casual chat down in the living room rather than him tied to a bed after being knocked out by God only knows what. ‘Well, it involves looking into every business associate, every neighbour, every friend. Turning up all their skeletons. Assessing any potential threat there might be. You were an interesting one, Clive. You’re not actually a threat to my client; so why, may you ask, do I give a shit? That’s where things get interesting.
‘You see I’ve always known that your P.R. firm is in trouble financially, that the contract you have with Nick is the only real one you have left, and even that’s on dodgy ground. I know why you’re with Tilly; I know exactly how much money she won from her divorce settlement with that cheating arsehole and how much her trust fund is. What was it you said in the latest meeting with your accountant? She lowered her voice and put on Clive’s posh accent: ‘“Give me a year, mate. Once everything’s squared away legally, good old Tils won’t want her husband’s company to go down the swanny. She’s got enough cash for anyone to get over the smell of manure after a while.”
‘Now, at this juncture, Clive, I will say that I didn’t really give much of a shit. Nick is my client; Matilda is not. But –’ Goodie drew the last word out as her eyes flashed with anger ‘– then I saw you put your hands on a nine-year-old little girl, and unfortunately for you that did spark my interest. Still, you may have been able to slope away quietly; Ed is unwittingly doing all the hard work for me in that direction anyway. But Clive, I’m afraid you hurt the wrong two-year-old in the kitchen earlier.’ Goodie moved to within reaching distance and he made a grab for her. She caught his hand and pulled it back viciously, almost breaking his fingers. Then leaned right in to whisper in his ear.
‘In your wildest dreams you have no idea what I am capable of. There is nothing I don’t know about pain – how to endure it and how to inflict it. If I were you I would do as I say.’
She pulled the tape from his mouth and leaned back to resume her cross-legged position.
‘Listen,’ he said, his voice now trembling. ‘I don’t know where you come from, but this is illegal. You can’t threaten me. You can’t do any of this.’
‘Ah!’ Goodie said, smiling again, and Clive felt a shiver of fear down his spine. ‘That is where the research comes in again; so important. Knowledge is power.’ Clive blinked and began to look uncertain in the face of Goodie’s confidence.
‘What –?’
‘Lisa Summers,’ Goodie said, and Clive felt all the blood run from his face. ‘I think the police report described how she “fell down the stairs”, but in the medical reports her injuries weren’t really consistent with –’
‘What do you want?’ Clive knew when he was beaten. He wasn’t going to risk his reputation. He’d given that grasping slut a pay-off five years ago, but there was no telling what would happen if all that crap was dredged up again. Clive lived and died by his reputation and the psychotic bitch sitting in front of him knew it.
‘I want you to leave and I want you to never look back.’ Clive stared at her for a long moment weighing his options, until he came to the depressing conclusion that he didn’t really have any.
‘Fine,’ he spat out, and Goodie smiled, reaching into her boot and pulling out a much scarier knife than the one she had been using in the kitchen. Clive flinched away from her as she cut through the strapping holding him on the bed, and scrambled off the other side once he was free. He went for his suitcase and started throwing clothes and belongings in at random.
‘You,’ he said, pointing at Goodie with a trembling finger, ‘you stay away from me.’
Goodie cocked her head to the side and her hands went to her hips. ‘You must be very angry though, Clive. Don’t you want to show what a big man you are, like you did with Lisa Summers? Teach me a lesson; I dare you. You can even have this.’ She threw the knife within reaching distance and Clive stared at it for a moment before resuming his frantic packing.
‘Just … just bugger off,’ he said, his hands still shaking.
Goodie sighed. ‘You’re no fun.’
He looked up a moment later but she, the dog and the knife were gone.
